Waiting Won't Get You Anywhere
by SlipIntoTheDream
Summary: When Ariadne performs a simple job out in Mombasa and 'befriends' a familiar Forger, she doesn't expect any of the consequences to be so extreme. Some A/A, later A/E.
1. Prologue

_**MWAHAHAHAHAHA. Guess who's back with a brand new wrap and-**_

_**Woah. Best shut up. Anyways, this is the sort of... prologue, I guess, to my Eames and Ariadne fic. Yes, it does begin as a Arthur and Ariadne fic, but dammit I HATE THAT PAIRING SO BAD and I ship Ariadne/Eames something fierce, so whatthaahell. They don't get nearly enough lurrving.**_

_**If I think this is going well enough, it will be a multiple chapter fic, plenty of flashbacks, and things will get a lot clearer as it goes on. All the basics are in this, though. Barring stuff to do with the job. Whatever. ENJOOYOOO ;) **_

_**Don't forget to Review! I would love you muchly if you did. Really, it would.**_

_**Ohohoh. I am not Christpher Nolan. If you even presumed I was, you need to leave. Now.**_

_**Title: Waiting won't get you anywhere.**_

_**Genre: Um... Romance, Hurt/Comfort(?), **_

_**Words: 1,244. My longest yet! *Victory Dance***_

_**Pairings: Ariadne/Eames, Ariadne/Arthur.**_

_**Warnings: Excesssive and irritating moping. -.-**_

Prologue.

Four weeks and two days after the Parkinson Job.

Ariadne

It was one of those beautiful spring mornings. The kind you could mistake for the start of summer: bright sky, skin-tingling warmth and summer dresses. This was Ariadne's perfect kind of day.

Normally.

She sighed and rubbed her temple. Today was not her day. Today was a day of confusion and angst. She couldn't concentrate on her school work; she couldn't concentrate on her boyfriend and she definitely couldn't concentrate on the film she was watching that was _meant_ to take her mind off things. Instead, her mind was stuck on _that night._ It remained in her mind, the images replayed again and again, as if it was a record stuck on repeat. She couldn't remember what they had said, so those images remained just that; Images. Though the scene replayed, she knew one thing for certain, that it had resulted in her spending those two weeks alone with him in his hotel room. She missed that so much, and she wanted it back. No, not wanted, she _needed _it back. Something inside her needed that passion, that fiery lust that she had been deprived of for so long. To have it taken away so abruptly was just cruel.

On the other hand, she wanted Arthur too. Six months of dating, all just so that she would find love in another familiar face. It seemed unfair and plain nasty on her part to play two men like that, but she didn't see any way out of it. She didn't want to have to choose between the man she was with and the man she'd been with. It was two weeks of passion – that's what she told herself – caused by the stress of work.

Still, she couldn't fight the fact that she felt so ashamed.

Nonetheless, she held the white stick in her hand. Arthur was at work for a further hour or so, which meant she could spend as long as she liked contemplating if she wanted to check the result. She hoped it was negative - Hell, she _prayed _and _pleaded _it was negative - because a positive pregnancy test could only mean it was his. She'd been so careful with Arthur, but not him. Things had gotten out of hand, and it just didn't seem relevant at the time. Drinking and dreaming didn't mix. She'd found that out the hard way, and he'd followed her to her hotel room at her command.

It was her decision to sleep with him. At first, he'd started protested, but soon enough he was tugging her towards her hotel room with an arm around her waist and his lips crashing down on hers.

She wanted _him_. Not his _children_. That's why she couldn't turn the stick over. She feared that result that would tell Ariadne that she carried his child. Her child. One that would grow to develop their mannerisms, his eyes, her nose…

"I can't." She whispered to herself. Sat on the edge of hers and Arthur's bed, in hers and Arthur's bedroom, in hers and Arthur's apartment…

She was discovering if the fortnight that she spent with another man would result in more than just guilt and pining. Part of her hoped that she would finally have the excuse to leave: Arthur was good for her, but she didn't want someone like him. He bored her to death and had no imagination, whereas the other man was creative and passionate. She liked Arthur, sure. But she didn't love him. Not like that. Not how she though she did.

Obviously, the other part of her hoped that she wasn't carrying a baby: she would be able to continue living with Arthur, taking up the occasional job and visiting Cobb and his kids every so often… She'd meet Arthur's mother, and in turn he'd meet her parents. Maybe they'd get married one day, have children, quit the PASIV machine and earn back the ability to dream naturally.

"Aria, is everything okay?" Arthur called from the kitchen, gradually walking towards to the closed bedroom door. Ariadne froze. She hadn't heard him come home: he was too early, and that was something she hadn't expected. Arthur never came home early. He'd taken up a mundane, simple job in banking in hope that it would take him away from dreaming. At hadn't, and now they were organising an Extraction in the hours he wasn't crunching numbers. The architect knew he was working himself to death, but couldn't bring herself to tell him to quit.

"I'm just changing. Give me two minutes". She called back, quietly trying to find a place to hide the pregnancy test. Her hands flitted between the back of her jeans and her bedside table: either way, she couldn't hide it from him for long unless she binned it.

She chose to hide it in her bedside table for the moment, before swiftly pulling of her plain, light blue scarf and her white blouse. She listened as Arthur's footsteps reached their door and sighed. He couldn't know any different, but she would. She couldn't stop comparing them to each other.

"Can I come in?" he asked from behind the door.

"If you want to…" She said, mustering her best smile. She repeatedly told herself to stop acting like a lovesick teenager, and to push him out of her goddamn head. It worked, to a certain extent. She just focused on anything and everything she could that didn't remind her of her time in Mombasa.

Arthur opened the door slowly and raised an eyebrow, smiling softly. She tried to keep in her mind that A**r**thur wasn't Daniel. It wouldn't be the same, and she shouldn't care.

But she did care, and she always knew that she'd want Eames more than she wanted Arthur.

"You look nice." He smirked, loosening his tie.

"Don't you start now. We have to go." She scolded him, crossing the room to open the wardrobe.

"So what?" Arthur asked, nearly whining.

"_So _we have to go and meet our team. I have absolutely no idea who you've hired for this job, so even if _you_ aren't going to meet them, I am." She said disapprovingly as she finally spotted her white summer dress.

"It might be a surprise." The Point Man smirked, leaning against the doorframe.

"It might be, but I don't like surprises. Plus I need to know what sort of people I'm working with so I can get you to fire them before we start." She beamed.

"You'll be fine with them."

"Go away; put your jacket back on. We're leaving as soon as I'm dressed." She ordered. Arthur rolled his eyes, but left anyway, mumbling something completely incoherent as she tugged off her jeans rather ungracefully and slipped her dress over her head, careful not to mess up her hair. Since Cobb quit, Arthur had sort of become an Extractor as well as a Point Man, putting together his own teams for jobs. The only time Ariadne hadn't been part of one of his teams was when she was still living in France and was finishing up her degree.

Smoothing out her dress, the young Architect's mind thought back to the pregnancy test that sat in her bedside table, unknown to Arthur.

"It's now or never." She mumbled to herself. She had no intention of chickening out this time – the draw was open before she knew it, face to face with the result she knew she would get anyway. The words were as clear as the day was.

Positive. Four to Five weeks.

She slammed the draw shut.

Dammit, she was going to hell for this.


	2. 1

_Finally, it's here!_

_I'm really not happy with this chapter. It's been kind of rushed and there's no real excitement, but it'll start moving faster when I have the time, and when I haven't got tests coming out of my freaing ears. I do apologise for this taking so long, but thank you to everyone who reviewd, favourited and alerted my shi- I mean, my fic! It really put the skip in my step ;)_

_Now... While I'm here, I gotta thank my rather amazing editory/unofficial beta, Ammmyyyyy, who helped with my first chapter. Unfortunately for me, she's got no internet (Or she lies... ;)) so she hasn't touched this one. It'll probably change somewhere down the line, but for now, I would like to thank her from the heart of my bottom. _

_She'll probably kill me for that later. Anyway! Read, review, favourite/alert... All the same! JUST DO IT! Please?_

_Next chapter might be a flashback. I warn you, yet again, it will take a while for me to do it. Apologies._

* * *

Eames.

Eames has never really been nervous. He gets it when he's flying, and he used to get it when he went to see his mother, but he hides it under layers of charm, grins and jokes.

He can't hide this though. Nobody is actually around at the minute, and he thanks his lucky stars for that because he'd get only asked questions. He chews on his knuckles, bounces his leg, hums familiar and out-of-tune songs. He waits. He's got _Martini_ in his head, so he obviously sounds _really_ bad. Not that he cares.

He's scared.

A million things could happen- a million different scenarios, when she steps in. He imagines what he wants to: Ariadne and him, smirking and giggling, sharing stolen glances, secretly brushing each other's hands and maybe even late nights in the shitty excuse of a warehouse as she teaches him the layout of the dream. Practise runs together, training sessions, the possibility of a chaste kiss from her soft lips…

But then, it could all go to pot- hell, he knows it will. Arthur's not observant, true, but the Point Man isn't stupid. Maybe Ariadne won't come near him, or maybe she won't have the same determination or look in her eyes as she did just over a month ago. This is the more likely to happen, and there's no way to avoid it. It's probably going to be awkward and painful, if Eames is going to be doing this entire job thinking of how goddamn _gorgeous _she is or, in fact, just generally what she looks like naked.

"Eames?"

Frowning, he looks up and over at Yusuf. The Chemist, who's stood in the doorway to the only separated room barring the water closet in the entire warehouse, gestures to his wrist for the time, Eames notes, and clears his throat, breaking the Forger completely from his reverie. His leg stops bouncing, and he pulls his hand from his mouth to check his watch. _Ten past five._

"They're ten minutes late."

"What about Cobb?" Yusuf pushes. He takes a seat on a rickety looking deck chair about a metre away, clasping his hands. Eames sighs impatiently.

"Cobb won't be here until the ungodly hours of tomorrow morning. He's joining us in the evening."

"What's he doing with his children? And I thought he'd retired."

Another sigh. _Too many questions. _Eames doesn't play this game.

"We had this chat, Yusuf. I have no bloody idea about Cobb, so you should ask Arthur or Ariadne when they decide to turn up."

"I wonder when that'll be." Yusuf smirks.

"Not a clue. I understand the boy holds down two jobs but I don't tolerate tardiness. Ariadne was meant to be a good influence on him." Eames grunts. His leg starts bouncing again when he says her name. It sends him into yet another frenzy of thoughts that he can't control, images of her pressed him, fists clenching the white - sweat covered, crumpled - sheets, her lips swollen and his lips trailing along her hip bone, down to her-

Oh no, no, no he was not having dirty daydreams of her now. Not here, not now.

Eames shakes his head violently and scrambles to get up from his chair while searching through his pockets for his cigarettes. He can never remember where he's put them, because he quit smoking years ago but started at the death sticks again after Ariadne left Mombasa. It's a nasty habit he picked up from Mal in the nineties – back when she was still Miss Mallorie Miles and he would laugh at her for it because _that is an honestly unfortunate name for such a lovely lady._

"Where are you going?" Yusuf asks, watching the lighter haired man walk briskly towards to the door. Eames saves his breath and just waves at the Chemist; he's already got a fag in his mouth Yusuf isn't worth his time, really. Eames chews it lightly as he hits the stairs, taking two down at a time. He remembers, as a kid, he'd do exactly the same to scare himself a little. It doesn't have the same effect now, but saves him some time nonetheless.

Humming louder now, hands in every pocket to find those _fucking matches _that he knows he has somewhere and yet again he thinks dropped again while-

"Lost something?"

He nearly walks directly into Arthur, falling slightly – _embarrassingly _– over his own feet on the last step. Quickly, he recovers and shoots the Point Man a grin.

"Where's your missus?" he asks.

"She's not my wife, Eames. Where do you think you're going?" the younger man snaps. Arthur's face is just so… plain, and piss boring, and it winds Eames up that tiniest bit. Who wants to date an emotionless, robotic perfectionist like him? If they do, then why? Eames understands that from a woman's (or man's) point of view, Arthur's perhaps quite good looking; however he still doesn't get what Ariadne sees in him. She's not shallow.

"Fag break. You're late, you know."

"Of course I know. Talk to Ariadne if you've got a complaint: she's the reason we took so long." Arthur grunts. He pushes Eames to the right so he can get up the stairs.

Eames prays they're having some sort of domestic.

* * *

Ariadne.

The girl knows she can't spend the entire evening in Arthur's car, moping and sighing and crying because of things in the past. She can't change them - she can't get rid of them either; she hasn't even _thought _about getting rid of the child, because it's a part of her now. It has been for over a month, and while she may have only just found out, she's already decided that it's _her _baby. If she needs to get by without a father, then she'll bloody well do it.

Because barring the whole daddy-problems thing, it's actually not a horrible situation for her. A bit early, sure. But Ariadne cracks the tiniest of smiles, and, braving the afternoon sun, gets out of the car.

She always used to think that the warehouses chosen for the jobs she'd done were always so crap looking because it suited their lifestyles. Ninety per cent of the places they'd rented had been abandoned for at least a year, with peeling walls, leaking pipes and cold floors. Not to mention grubby bathrooms and hypodermic needles in the sinks: okay, she's only come across the needles once, but it's still something that has remained in her mind. _Hopefully _this place isn't a complete and utter hell hole, she muses, pushing her way through the fire exit.

The smell of tobacco hits her first, accompanied by the strong scent of a familiar men's aftershave as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. She sees a pair of feet, too – someone sitting on the steps higher up, shoes tapping against the concrete. She takes a few steps forward, up the first three steps, and discovers dark trousers, one hand besides their leg, and the bottom of a black dinner jacket. Their sleeves are rolled, an expensive – probably stolen – watch on their wrist. Another two steps reveals a black shirt, storm grey tie and a lit cigarette. One more step brings Ariadne to the top of the first lot of steps. Dark blue-grey eyes, a short back and sides on his hair and a bruised cheekbone, he sits silently, his eyes meeting hers. She almost looks

Eames smiles softly, and her stomach drops so quickly she almost looks down, expecting to see it lying on the floor. She doesn't look, though, and judging by the fact she hears nothing, it's still there. She nearly laughs.

"Hi." She mumbles.

"Hey," He says, stubbing out his cigarette. "How are you?"

_Lost? Angry? Emotional? _"I've been great."

He watches her for a moment, knowing she's lying. He doesn't believe her for a second.

"How have you been, then?" She asks instead, to stop him from saying anything.

"Peachy." He says bluntly, and flicks the butt over the edge of the stairs.

"You got a haircut."

"You got a tan."

He looks away as she finds herself blushing.

"Yeah, I uh, I've been in the sun a lot." She mumbles, as if she needs to explain why. "I need to go help Arthur."

"Of course. I'll be with you in a moment." He nods. There's a moment were Ariadne nearly reaches to stroke his cheek, then holds herself back because it's a stupid thing to do. Like, really stupid. Grinding her teeth, she brushes past him.

"Ariadne?"

She freezes in the doorway.

"Eames?"

He gives her that honest smile again; the one that makes her knees go a little weak and her chest tighten. It makes Eames look almost…

…_Cute_?

"It's nice to finally see you again." He tells her. She smiles the tiniest bit, until she hears Arthur call her name in the other room.

"You too." She says.

They do everything they acan to avoid eachother after that. Until Arthur announces Eames is dreaming up their first level.

Ariadne nearly cries.

* * *

_What a crap last two lines? But I hit the wall..._

_Wall not good :'( _

_Oh. Inception = Not mine. End of._


	3. 2

_**What can I do other than apologise for my horrendous lack of updating? I do feel bad, but with all my tests and family stuff, I sort of put this off for so, so long and then I got writers block and everything went to shit. All I can do is apologise and thank everyone who has reviewed. That's **__ThoseNights, __IzzyLuvs Emmett-Eames__, cjhar __**(twice!)**__, __southerntennisgirl__, Lazarus76, Jazomaniac, BlackxValentine __**and**__ Priscilla2, __**all who I have to thank for reminding me I**__**was taking too long**__**with this too.**_

_**I must point out; I screwed up a point in the first/second chapter. I forget which. But Ariadne spent 7 weeks in Mombasa, not 2. Um, what else?...**_

_**Oh yeah, the final section is kinda fuzzy. It was late when I wrote it.**_

_**I don't own Inception. Duh.**_

* * *

_Mombasa_

_Once upon a time, there lived a thief, with no ties to keep him down and as much money as anyone could ever get their hands on. He never stayed still, constantly moving and changing his name to avoid arrest. He had never been part of a family, never experienced domesticity or understood the strange thing that people called love. He lived in cheap and dirty casinos, drinking cheap and dirty alcohol and seducing cheap and dirty women that he didn't want for no reason other than the feeling of sadistic satisfaction when he left them in the shithole they'd come from. _

_In a distant land, a woman lies wide awake and cold each night in the arms of the man who shows his work more love than her. She remains unsatisfied by her life, waits for another fulfilling experience like that of the Fischer Job. Her job at the local coffee shop is boring. Her architecture degree is pointless. The world is full of limits and laws that even she can't break up here. The thought of sharing her life with the man she thinks she loves becomes daunting rather than exciting._

_The thief offers her a job one day. A seven week job, supplies, flights and hotels paid for if needs be. She takes it without a second thought._

* * *

Ariadne

Two weeks later.

The young woman remains entirely silent and unsure of how to act as the doctor counts the wad of cash she's just handed him. One hand rests on her stomach, absently drawing circles with her index finger, while her other hand grips the wooden arm of her chair, as if it will stop her from being so anxious. It doesn't help much, she notes, but it does prevent her from bursting into tears. Doctor Inara seems to notice her discomfort, repeatedly glancing up from the money, but says nothing until he's done counting, placed it all back into the brown envelope and carefully laid it in a drawer in his desk.

"You are aware of how much money you've given us, aren't you?" He asks after a moment. Ariadne raises an eyebrow.

"I don't tend to give out large amounts of money without knowing how much there is first, Doctor Inara. I'm not asking for a lot here."

"Just our silence and safety." He nods. "There's enough to keep a family of four going for two or three months in that envelope."

"Are you complaining?" She replies, removing her hand from her stomach. Inara's eyes briefly flicker towards the bump carefully hidden under multiple layers of clothing.

"You need a midwife."

It's not a question. Not an accusing comment. Just a statement that needs no real confirmation from either parties.

"You have someone that's suitable?"

"Miss Winters, not only will I have someone suitable, I have a team of very experienced doctors who are veterans in the field that you work in. I'm sure they'll know what they're talking about."

Ariadne gives a brief smirk before rising from the seat and brushing down the front of her shirt.

"Shall we get moving then, Doctor Inara? I'm on a tight schedule."

* * *

_She's flustered and hot, standing outside Moi International Airport in the horrible Kenyan heat, waiting for a taxi that will take her to just another place she doesn't know. Her boyfriend sleeps soundly on the other side of the world, not worried that she hasn't told him where she is. _

_The thief picks her up as a surprise, literally seconds before she steps into the car, carries her suitcase to his black Renault and gives her a kind smile. She smiles back; it's been a few months since she last saw him. He's cut his hair short, kept the stubble and is wearing a white shirt and faded denim jeans. She likes this look better. Suits are boring. _

_She's in constant fits of laughter and then, the thief somehow convinces her to come for drinks in a neat little nightclub not too far from the hotel. It's simply a case of ditching her lilac case in the room, changing into a neater dress and attempting to fix her hair before they leave. They get too drunk. She dances the night away, and he gets in a fight for a reason neither can remember. _

_She tells herself that falling into bed with him was inevitable, that it would happen eventually; it's all normal. Just don't do it again._

* * *

Part of her wonders whether or not it was entirely necessary to hand Doctor Inara so much money in order to buy his silence; True, she had too much money and no idea what to do with it all, but it could have gone towards her life after this job. There's no way in hell she can take any more after they've finished up here – Arthur will be looking for her, no doubt, and bringing a child into such dangers isn't suitable. Also, leaving the business eliminates the chances of meeting Eames, Cobb, Yusuf or any of the others that she's worked with by a hefty amount. That suits her fine. Maybe she'll pick up a proper architecture job. Last she heard, one of her old lecturers was hiring out in Greece.

Frowning, Ariadne picks idly at the bottom of her jacket, where it has started to fray. What would she do when her part in all of this finished? When the information is extracted, and she catches that flight back to hers and Arthur's boring apartment in Paris? Would he worry if she never got that plane? Where would she go?

Paris, to her, is home. But Arthur is there. She's not welcome back in Canada. Mombasa always felt familiar, but Eames is there way too often. Maybe America, or perhaps somewhere unfamiliar, like-

"Miss Winters?"

The architect's head snaps up at the sound of her name, and the nurse - a grey haired man with crow's feet and a crooked nose - gestures for her to come in. The smile he gives is warm and genuine, making her less reluctant to rise and follow him into one of the many closed-off rooms.

It's small yet cosy, with a bed covered in a sickly green paper sheet and what Ariadne presumes is the ultrasound machine in the left hand corner, and next to it a small computer screen. The nurse has already taken a seat on a trashed swivel chair. The way his smile seems glued onto his lips as he looks at her reminds her of Eames, and she has to look away. Guilt rears its ugly head again, and Ariadne has to push down the emotions threatening to surface with it. She's been strong up until now; there's no reason stop because of a kind old man.

"Hi, I'm Ariadne." She says quietly, offering her hand and still not looking him in the eye. How exactly is she meant to act in this place? Does he already know her name?

Of course he does. What a stupid question.

"You can call me Mark, or Dr. Gray, whichever you prefer." He says, shaking it firmly. "Now, if you'd like to jump up on the bed, we can get started, yes?"

"I need to lie down?" Ariadne blinks.

"Unless you plan on doing this all standing - which I don't advise - then yes."

The paper rustles noisily beneath her, making her cringe while she lies back. Dr. Gray chuckles.

"Nervous?" He asks.

"I'm shitting myself." She huffs.

"Don't worry about it. My wife was the same for our first."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Just the two," He says distantly. "Right, if you could just lift your shirt up so we can get to your stomach better, that'd be great. This," He waves a plastic bottle of something briefly before popping the cap. "Will be cold. Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

"You see that?"

Squinting at the screen, Ariadne shakes her head. It's mainly an array of black and white blotches to her, making no sense whatsoever and yet somehow meaning everything to her.

"I can't really see anything at all." She admits after a moment, settling back. Dr. Gray shrugs indifferently, then pulls himself forwards to have a better view of the screen.

"These," He gestures to two small blobs on the screen, divided by what looks like a line of white. "Are your children."

Children. Plural.

Wait, what?

"I'm having twins?" She nearly screeches.

"Ariadne, it's not that big a deal. It shouldn't be a surprise to you either; you couldn't have ruled out the possibility of having twins, when you told my colleague in your check-up that your mother is from a set of twins, as are some of your cousins."

There's a moment of silence as she mulls it all over. Twins. She's having twins-

Eames' twins, for that matter. Oh, _god. _

"How far along would you say I am? I don't trust those pregnancy tests." She asks, interrupting her own train of thought. Mark turns the screen back and scratches his chin with his free hand.

"Nine, maybe ten weeks? What did your test say?"

"Four to five weeks. That was a week ago."

"Those things aren't worth the money you pay for them." He grumbles. "Did you want a picture?"

* * *

_It happens again and again. Only, these times, both of them are sober, perfectly aware of what they're doing, why they're doing it. They're aware that this is what they want, right now. They live in the moment, in her hotel room, in his hotel room down the hall. Her thoughts never stray from him…_

* * *

Ariadne walks down to the hospital lobby in a daze, unsure of where she's going or who she can turn to. Her brain tells her not to even go to the warehouse where she'll only face Eames and his ideas for the levels, to run home, grab her stuff and flee the country. Her body tells her to do the exact opposite. Clutching the ultrasound photo in her hand, she attempts to make her way through a small crowd and call a taxi. Thankfully, the queue to the phone is short. She lifts the phone from the receiver and sighs.

Letting her head fall against the payphone, Ariadne can only hope the sharp pain in her forehead will prevent her from thinking about anything but the taxi service. She pushes names and voices and images from her mind. She makes herself numb, robotic. Ready to go outside, to not cry.

But she's still not quite ready to go home.

"Ariadne!"

The Architect spins on her heel, puzzled, but sees nobody. If her mind is going to continue playing tricks on her, she has the feeling she won't be able to hold herself together for much longer. This is getting ridiculous.

"Ariadne, over here!"

Some moments later, she spots the hand, waving somewhere over the small crowd of heads by the entrance. The shouts continue; People turn to stare and frown and the man pushing his way towards the young girl frozen in her place.

Eames huffs when he finally reaches the brunette, and attempts to give her a reassuring smile, or show some sort of support for her.

Instead, Eames' smile turns out as more of a grimace, and Ariadne can't help but collapse in a flood of tears into his arms.

* * *

_**Silly little drama queen. Sorry about the sucky ending. However, I have an idea for the next chapter- it will, cross fingers, be mainly between these two. **_

_**God, I suck at this.**_


	4. Author's Note

_A/N: Hi guys!_

_I'm really sorry to disappoint, but this is sadly just an author's note and not one of my occasional updates. I thought I'd take the time to thank all of you that have reviewed, however I plan on removing this story and rewriting it entirely, due to my continuous errors and bad planning. It will be called exactly the same, and I have already started. I don't plan on posting until I have completed the fic, so I am able to post once a week. Again, thank you for all of you who have been reading it. It means a lot to me._

_SlipIntoTheDream._


End file.
